


Multitasking

by woollen_pharaohs



Series: Shadows (ft. Dale & Harry) [1]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, attempted plot, which is really just an excuse for ensuing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:18:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dale Cooper has to set aside his fears and give his friend some emotional support after the death of Josie. He can't putt off seeing the Sheriff any longer. The longer he waits, the worse it will get and he only knows too well what that can do to a person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Multitasking

**Author's Note:**

> Split into two parts, Dale's POV and Harry's POV. 
> 
> Inspired by Sheriff Harry Truman's black grief clothing.

\- **Dale** -

There’s a short rap at his office door and Hawk wedges the door open, peeks through the gap, “Coop?”

Dale Cooper snaps out of his daydream and stammers a reply, “Y-yes?”

Hawk slinks inside Dale’s office and shuts the door behind him, “he’s bad. You need to go see him.”

Dale knows who Hawk’s talking about and lead pumps through his veins at the thought of him. It’s not like he’s avoiding him. That’s quite the opposite of Agent Dale Cooper’s personality. But just thinking about going to see him… Dale gets queasy. The loss of a lover, the memory of holding her in his arms still tangible, the feel of her soft skin lingering on his fingertips, the way her eyes once lively turn glassy, empty.

“You can’t put it off any longer Coop,” Hawk says flatly.

Dale’s thumbs fidget with a scrap of paper and he casts his eyes to the window, “I know, you’re right Hawk, I know you’re right.”

Dale wasn’t one to procrastinate but these certain turn of events provoked Dale to sympathises with Harry all too well. The passing of Josie has reminded him, unfortunately quite vividly, of the passing of Caroline, amongst a myriad of memories once locked away pertaining to the direct aftermath. With the utmost respect to the Sheriff, he much preferred to keep these such memories private and locked away to be forgotten.

Hawk steps forward and leans his palms on Dale’s desk as he speaks, frowning, “he’s been asking for you.”

Dale glances at Hawk, “he has?”

Hawk nods and straightens, “I don’t know about you, but usually when a friend is in need you don’t ignore them and hope the problem resolves on its own. That only makes things worse.”

Dale grips his desk, “you’re a good man Deputy. A good, honourable man and you’re absolutely right,” he stands up abruptly, “tell Lucy to hold my calls this afternoon, I’ll be out.”

Hawk grins, “he’ll be happy to see you.”

 

 

Driven by loyal determination, Dale pulls his sedan up at Harry’s house, marches up to his doorstep and pauses. His stomach churns liquid iron and he tries to ignore the idea that it would be like walking into a scene mimicking one of his own chapters of history. Of course back then, his period of grief was brightened by the humble loyalty and kindness expelled by his fellow agents Albert and Denise. Without them, he doubts he could have moved on quite so swiftly. And so here he stands, a week to date after such horrible turn of events and Dale has no honourable excuse to be quite so late.

Dale ensures his flannel is tucked neatly into his slacks, that the buttons are all securely done up and straightens his sleeves down to his wrists, and perhaps might have repeated this routine once more before he lightly pushes through the unlocked door. It’s now or never.

Afternoon sun behind him pours into the dark abode, dust floating along the rays cutting through the darkness. Hawk informed Dale that Harry’s been bedridden and Dale completely understands the desire to keep all possible light sources extinguished. He leaves the front door open as he navigates his way through Harry’s living room. He draws curtains and cracks open windows, letting the cool autumn air flow through the stuffy house.

There’s a clatter of glass from the kitchen, startling Dale. He swivels around, strides quickly toward the kitchen and stops when he sees Harry standing by the bar, a glass of whiskey in one hand and the other gripping the marble counter, securing him. Dale swallows, he wasn’t really expecting a conversation with Harry. He had planned to just come in, clean up a bit, cook him a meal, check he’s not trying anything stupid. And seeing Harry out of bed was the biggest surprise. Seeing him posed there in a plain black t-shirt and black jeans like some kind of rock star. Hair frizzy, eyes red and sore and lips thirsty for alcohol.

Harry forces a slow blink and wipes his lips with the back of his hand, inadvertently splashing whiskey out of his glass over the bar. Harry sways and Dale rushes over to him, grabbing what he hopes is a dish towel and holds his friend still while he soaks up the mess.

“Coop… You’re here…” Harry drawls, tongue lazy in his mouth.

Dale swallows, his heart hammering in his throat as Harry drapes his arm around Dale’s waist, “Harry, you’ll have to direct me to your bedroom.”

Harry chuckles, “you know….”

Dale hoists Harry’s arm over his shoulder, tries to ignore the way Harry’s fingers brush against his waist, “Harry I regret to inform you that my visits to your humble abode have always been without the great pleasure of being shown the grand tour. I have had to simply deduce the function of each room by their nature.”

Harry’s head lolls and he gurgles a chuckle at Dale’s comment. Dale blinks, “it seems I must take matters into my own hands,” he says, mostly to himself.

Dale carries Harry out of the kitchen and, according to the typical layout of American homes, he takes Harry down the hall. He pushes open doors with his shoes, discovering a study, a bathroom, and finally what resembles a bedroom. Resemblance deduced by the existence of a bed, albeit covered in a mess of clothes and towels and empty beer bottles. Dale takes Harry into the bedroom and tries to push away the top layer of mess to allow a clear spot of mattress for him to lie the Sheriff down upon.

Harry’s shirt rides up slightly and Dale wonders if the choice of black was to disguise any blemishes. It seemed likely when the alternative reasoning was to entice Dale. Dale shakes his head and proceeds to tidy up Harry’s room. He starts to shuffle the rubbish out of Harry’s room when he hears a sort of grunt coming from Harry.

“Coop?” Harry drawls.

Dale drops the rubbish by the door, “Harry?”

“Please don’t go.”

“Harry I’m just going to go throw away this rubbish-“

“Please don’t leave me alone,” Harry interrupts, his voice cracking.

Dale shudders and his joints are steel and rusting and he cranks his joints to follow the order to move. He sits on the bed beside Harry, slipping off his shoes. Stiff and hot, his stomach a fully fuelled smelter, he pulls the blankets over Harry, tucking it in behind his back. Dale draws his hand back and Harry rolls over, takes Dale’s hand in his.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Harry says, and it’s Dale’s words verbatim. Three years ago in his dingy apartment when he couldn’t go on, couldn’t stop thinking about Caroline, about Windom, about the files piling up on his desk at work. It’s too much to do on your own. Hawk’s right, people aren’t made to grieve in solitude.

“I’m not leaving you until you ask me to,” Dale says.

He cups Harry’s hand in his, weak yet rough. Limp yet Dale can feel the life returning to Harry, feel it beginning in the pads of his fingertips.

 

 

\- **Harry** -

Orange hues poke through the gaps in the curtains, the afternoon sun sinking behind the mountains. How many hours has it been since it all went down, D Day, the big 360. Has it been days yet, weeks, months? First he was alone, ignored. Then he was babysat. Now he’s cared for, tastefully of course, lovingly. Bathing in the scents of Dale cooper, soaking him in his bed sheets, never to be wrung out. Dissolving against Cooper’s skin flush against his own. Coop smiles at him the same way he smiles when he’s talking about the sweetest piece of cherry pie, at the bitterness of the best black coffee. Coop beams at him, that giddy, goofy grin like he’s some kid high on nothing but the radiant sunshine. When Coop smiles at him he just about thinks he’ll be okay.

 

Harry wears the black outfit because he knows Coop likes it. Feels the man’s eyes on his waist when he doesn’t pull his shirt down. He’s never seen it happen but he knows Coop checks out his ass in his black jeans, tight around his ass, and yeah, he feels like some kind of teenager dressed like this but that might also have something to do with the fact that Agent Dale Cooper makes him feel young again, like some kind of embodiment of the fountain of youth. Coop runs his hands over Harry’s waist, fingers grazing across bare skin and Coop is always so sharp, sharp nosed, sharp eyes, sharp mind, always focused on the task at hand.

Coop combs his fingers through Harry’s hair as he kisses the man, pressing his body against the Sheriff’s. Cooper tastes minty. Running his tongue inside Cooper’s mouth, his teeth are pearlescent stones, playfully biting on Harry’s tongue. Coop gently pulls Harry’s head up, kisses down his cheek and nibbles down his neck, then drops to his knees, hands on Harry’s belt. Harry moans softly, gripping the kitchen counter. His breathing heavy, hands clammy and slippery on the marble, Coop raises Harry’s shirt and licks a trail to his navel.

Harry squirms in his pants, his erection proving too obstructive for skinny leg jeans. Cooper merely chuckles and only slightly undoes Harry’s belt, giving him just enough room to slip his hands beneath the denim, cup Harry’s ass. Harry groans, melting into Cooper’s sensitive touch. He can’t help but sink to the floor, Cooper squatting between his open legs, and Harry drags his hands over Cooper’s hair, metallic and waxy and he pulls Cooper down to smash his lips together.

As expected, Cooper’s mastered the craft of multitasking, and he whips out Harry’s belt as they kiss, tossing it into the abyss behind him. He helps to tug off Harry’s jeans leaving him exposed on the kitchen floor, basking in the omnipresent glow of half-light. Cooper places his hands on Harry’s knees then trails the touch down to Harry’s cock. He kisses Harry briefly, toying with the head of Harry’s cock with his thumb before breaking away and taking it completely in his mouth.

Harry groans, his throbbing cock ensconced in wet heat, he’ll never look at Cooper’s mouth the same way again. Cooper sucks on Harry’s dick, dragging his fingers along Harry’s stomach, along his waist and his arching back. Harry leans forward, stretches his hands over Cooper’s flannel, pulling at the fabric, scraping through to Cooper’s skin as Coop drags his lips over Harry’s dick, swivels his tongue around his shaft and tickles the head.

Cooper abruptly stops, exposing Harry’s dick to the cool open air. Harry whimpers, pawing at Cooper’s shoulders.

Cooper catches Harry’s eyes, incensed with want, “Harry, you’re beautiful.”

Harry scrambles close to Cooper, wraps his arms around the man and kisses his neck, nibbles his ear as Cooper cranes away.

When Cooper speaks his voice is scratched, hesitant, “Harry, can I fuck you?”

Harry laughs and wraps his legs around Cooper, “did you even need to ask?”

Cooper places his hands on Harry’s waist and grins, then positions himself behind Harry. He removes his clothes and fishes out a tube of lube from his pocket before discarding the pants. Harry bounces on his heels, positively impatient.

When he feels the cool gel touch his skin he has to ask, “have you got a condom too?”

Cooper laughs and teases Harry’s cock as he replies, “did you even need to ask? I’m an FBI agent. I’m always prepared.”

Cooper releases his hold of Harry’s dick and he groans in frustration, but is quickly relieved by the sensation of Cooper’s fingers probing his entrance. Harry practically presses down on Cooper’s fingers like a magnet. He’s so desperate and hot and clammy, but Cooper’s careful enough to know when it’s safe to move things forward. When Cooper’s satisfied with Harry’s relaxing muscles, he enters Harry completely, letting his hands travel to Harry’s dick.

Harry groans unexpectedly loud, Cooper’s dick pressing against his boundaries, inching closer and closer to his sweet spot. He mewls, needy and disgusting, palms and knees sticking to the linoleum floor, he arches his back as Cooper grinds into him. Cooper’s got to be some kind of supernatural being, how else can he have such focus, such great ability to do two things at once without, you know, passing out. Harry’s never been good at that, he’s a one track mind kind of guy which leaves his mind boggled trying to understand how Cooper can do so much at once. Guess that’s why he’s an FBI agent.

Cooper’s got one slick hand wrapped around Harry’s dick and the other holding Harry’s hips in place as he carefully guides his dick into Harry’s entrance, slow and methodical, eyes on the prize.

Harry grinds up against Cooper’s dick every chance he gets and he feels like a teenager, thirsty and craving and coaxing his lover to go faster, please, go faster. Cooper gets the hint, he gets the hint alright and he’s going to tease Harry as long as he can. Go steady, slowly build it up because that’s what Dale Cooper’s all about, carefully gathering all evidence until he can slam it to the truth. He pushes hard into Harry and Harry’s simultaneously sick of the build-up and loving it, loving the tension, the intensity.

Harry knows he’s won Cooper over to the ecstasy when he tries to softly place a kiss on Cooper’s back and instead bites the skin, not too hard, but clawing the skin with his teeth, needy and raspy and Harry rolls his hips in time with Cooper’s thrusts, moans and grunts disgusting noises as Cooper pumps his dick, brings him over the edge, wrings him out to dry. As Harry’s back is shuddering, working through the waves, Cooper claws and gnaws at Harry, scratches and scrapes down his skin, dick throbbing and prodding, he comes inside Harry, ignited by the spilling of Harry’s pleasure.

Cooper collapses on top of him, heaving and panting, the life ripped out of him only momentarily, leaving him gasping for air. Coop musters up strength and slowly peels himself off Harry’s back, lets the two of them slide painlessly to the cool linoleum. Harry’s mind is reeling, his body tingling, his dick limp and sticky and yet, just the sight of Agent Dale Cooper naked and debauched beside him is enough to get him hard again.

Coop cradles Harry’s head in his chest and presses kisses in his hair, writing love letters on Harry’s back with his fingers. Harry watches a smile creep over Coop’s face, that infinite smile. The curves of Harry’s mouth turn up and he nuzzles his face into Coop’s side, draping an arm over his waist.

“Thank you.”

Coop lifts his head, “for what?”

“For everything. For this. For not leaving me alone. I … I don’t think I could have gotten through it without you.”

Coop pulls Harry close, nestles his face in Harry’s curly hair, and Harry can practically feel Cooper grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the corny ending, it seems to be the only way i am able to end pwps!


End file.
